


Bright-Eyed and Bushy-Tailed

by avislightwing



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2018-10-25 21:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10772349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avislightwing/pseuds/avislightwing
Summary: Modern AU with Martial Arts Instructor!Cassian and Sad Artist!Lucien. This ship needs more love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: I added some warnings and changed the rating to Mature, because I realized that this fic deals with some pretty dark stuff, even if it's not necessarily a dark fic.
> 
> Happy reading!

The minute Cassian saw Lucien Kelly, he knew he was in deep shit.

“It’s the eye, isn’t it?”

Cassian blinked, suddenly aware that he’d been staring at the other man with an intensity that was bound to be noticed. “What?”

Lucien gestured to his face, to the vicious scar running in a vertical line across a glass eye with a striking golden iris. “I don’t blame you. It can be a bit distracting at first,” he said.

 _Don’t do it,_ Cassian thought.

Lucien smirked.

_God dammit._

This was what he got for being a good friend. Feyre had been so persuasive – _come on, Cassian, it’s just one night, Rhys and I haven’t been on a date in ages and I don’t like leaving him alone yet_ – like Lucien was their strange, ginger lovechild. Cassian hadn’t been able to say no.

It helped that he’d been only a few drops short of drunk off his ass. Her fault. She knew his weakness for good whiskey, and had invested in a bottle or two for just such an occasion.

By the time he was sober again, she cheerfully told him he’d already agreed to help out and both she and Rhys were _sooooooo grateful, really,_ and that _I’m sure you’ll enjoy each other’s company_ and that was that.

Cassian let the door swing shut behind him. “Have Feyre and Rhys left yet?” he asked.

“Only about five minutes ago.” Lucien fiddled with his phone. “There. They made me promise to send them a text once you got here.”

Cassian wondered idly whether Feyre had left the rest of that whiskey where he could get at it. He hoped so. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to make it through the evening without it. Why Feysand had chosen to leave for their date at four in the afternoon was beyond him. “Why can’t they leave you, anyways?” he asked abruptly. “You’re an adult.”

Lucien waved a hand. He was sprawled on the couch, long hair of a decidedly red hue haphazardly braided and flung over one shoulder. “Didn’t Feyre fill you in?” he asked, tone dripping with sarcasm. “I’m a danger to myself.”

Cassian’s eyes widened. “What, she thinks –”

Lucien cut him off. “Not what you’re thinking. She’s afraid I’m going to run back to Tamlin if she doesn’t keep half an eye on me at all times.”

Tamlin. Cassian knows that name, both personally and professionally:  Feyre’s abusive ex, and the twenty-something CEO of the biggest pharmaceutical company this side of the Atlantic. “You used to be involved with Tamlin?”

Lucien’s laugh sounded hollow and ironic. “Oh, don’t I wish. No, not like that. I worked under him, talked to other CEOs, negotiated business deals.”

He paused, but Cassian didn’t say a word, just slung his duffel bag onto a kitchen chair. “I did live with him,” Lucien went on after a moment. “But that’s it.”

Cassian managed to hold back a sound of disbelief. As if any man, straight or otherwise, could _just live_ with someone like Lucien. He’d seen Tamlin a time or two – handsome in that old money kind of way:  gold hair and green eyes and a shoulder-to-hip ratio that would make comic book artists weep. Nothing special, though. Just another white guy with enough cash for hairstylists and personal trainers.

Lucien was different, with the scar and the fiery hair and the slim build. It would take an accomplished artist (had Feyre ever painted him?) to capture the way Lucien lay sprawled on the couch:  one smooth line sweeping down the length of his body and bespeaking a kind of otherworldly elegance. Old blood, Cassian would call it, not old money. Lucien looked like he should be stuck in a tower, or drawing water from a stone well and finding a magical being that would give him three wishes. Or maybe he was the magical being in the well.

“And yet Feyre’s worried you’ll go back to him,” Cassian said, sitting backwards in the kitchen chair alongside the one on which he’d thrown his bag. “Why are you here in the first place?”

“Feyre took me with her when she…” Lucien hesitated for a long moment. “…left. For good.”

“Why?” Cassian asked again, well aware he was prying.

“Why do you think?” Abruptly, Lucien picked up his phone again. Cassian took the hint and left him alone.

 

It was some time before either of them spoke again. “You hungry?” Cassian asked Lucien. “Feyre told me to get takeout and charge Rhys’s account.”

Lucien shrugged. Over the past three hours, Cassian had noticed him growing more… listless. For the first two, he’d taken at least seventeen photos on his phone, read a few chapters of the paperback sitting on the coffee table, and listened to an album of some alt-rock band Cassian didn’t recognize. But once the third hit… Cassian had watched out of the corner of his eye, pretending to be taking notes on the Muay Thai video playing on his laptop. He’d watched when Lucien stared at the paperback for five minutes without turning a page, and when the other man dropped his phone on the floor and didn’t pick it up, and when he started rebraiding his hair but stopped halfway through.

“Well, I’m going to order Asian, I think,” Cassian said after another moment of silence. “Potstickers. Lo mein. Broccoli beef. The whole nine yards. Who knows when I’ll get the chance to spend Rhys’s money with impunity again?”

Lucien didn’t respond, besides a nod to show he’d heard him.

“Anything in particular you want me to order for you?” Cassian asked, and almost automatically, his voice dropped a few decibels to match Lucien’s silence.

Another shrug.

“Here.” Cassian picked up the take-out menu and walked to the couch. “I’m going to give you a couple choices, okay?” he told Lucien, making it clear by his tone and volume that the _okay_ meant _if that’s okay with you_ and not _this is what’s going to happen now whether you like it or not_. “And you pick one. The one that…” Cassian hesitated, thinking how to phrase this. “The one that sounds like you could eat it.”

After a moment, Lucien nodded, which caused the corners of Cassian’s mouth to tug up, if only slightly. “All right. You vegetarian or anything? You like spicy stuff?”

Lucien nodded, then shook his head.

“Vegetarian and not spicy. Got it. Looks like you still have some good options. How about…” Cassian studied the menu for a second. He had no idea what Lucien liked, apart from what he’d just communicated. “Okay, three choices.” He turned the menu around and showed it to Lucien. “Fried rice with vegetables, miso soup, or spring rolls?”

Lucien raised his hand and tapped on the miso soup. Then, after a moment, he tapped the spring rolls as well, and gave Cassian a small half-smile – the pale shadow of the smirk that made Cassian’s heart skip a beat earlier.

Cassian made up for it, grinning widely. “You got it. After all, Feysand owe you for leaving you with the likes of me.” He winked at Lucien, then headed back across the room to grab his phone and place the order.

 

“We’re not friends.”

“Yeah, I know.”

They’d stacked the takeout containers on the coffee table. Every one of them was empty. Lucien had taken one look at the ridiculous amount of food they’d ordered and told Cassian – in a voice that was quiet but _there_ – that there was no way he’d eat all that. Cassian had bet him twenty bucks that he could. (Cassian won, of course.)

After dinner, Cassian had turned on the TV, flipping through channels at such a rate that Lucien reached over and snatched the remote. He’d turned on some sort of home improvement show and informed Cassian, in no uncertain terms, that he would get the remote back over his dead body – which, of course, Cassian had taken as a challenge. They’d had a brief fight that mostly involved tossing pillows across the room. It ended as suddenly as it had begun, when one of the pillows knocked one of Rhys’s endless knickknacks over with a crash and Lucien flinched. Cassian had pretended not to notice, but he slumped back into his chair with a huff and declared that it was too much work, and besides, the home improvement guys were using power tools and sledgehammers, so he supposed he could endure it for a little while longer.

“I mean it,” Lucien said sternly. “Not friends.”

“Whatever you say, Lucien darling,” Cassian said with a grin, borrowing Rhys’s nickname for Feyre.

Lucien scowled. “You’re entirely too big for that chair, by the way,” he said. “You look ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? Or amazing?” Cassian knew full well he looked ridiculous. Feysand’s chairs were not meant for six-foot-five behemoths such as himself. Even Rhys – no lightweight himself – was half a head shorter than he was and had maybe a third of the muscle.

Lucien, on the other hand, fit in just fine. He was only a few inches shorter than Cassian, but half his size. “Ridiculous,” Lucien asserted, snapping a picture and tossing his phone to Cassian. “Take a look. You can’t deny it.”

Cassian caught the phone and turned it from side to side, pretending to examine the photo from all angles. “I’ll suspend judgement for now,” he said, tossing it back. “You into photography, then?”

“Used to be.”  Lucien’s mouth tightened. “But, you know. It got so I didn’t have time. And then my camera broke…”

There’s an edge to his voice that told Cassian to leave it. “What do you do now?”

“Sit around – what did you call them? – Feysand’s place and be useless, mostly,” Lucien said sourly. “Take up space. Take time away from their jobs so they can drive me places.”

There was an awkward pause.

“I have a truck,” Cassian said.

Lucien groaned. “God, not you too. I don’t want your pity.”

“Good,” Cassian shot back. “Because you’re not getting it.” He sat up. “My studio holds weird hours, and it’s pretty close. Better than letting Rhys drive you around in that thing he calls a car.”

Lucien was silent for a moment. “It’d be an hour drive three times a week,” he finally said. “At the very least.”

“Shit, that’s nothing,” Cassian said with a grin. “Wanna bet that I can get Rhys to give me gas money?”

“I already lost one bet tonight.” Lucien stared at the ceiling as he thought. “Fine. For Feyre and Rhys. But this still doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“Whatever you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not have direct experience with either PTSD or depression, so if I write something offensive/harmful, PLEASE tell me and I will take it down or change it right away! Thank you!
> 
> Shoutout to SquadDreamCourt (YouLookGoodInLeather) for inspiring this with her work While We Spoke of Many Things and to blogtealdeal for inspiring Photographer!Lucien with her lovely art.
> 
> (Also, in case anyone is wondering, Lucien's last name means bright-headed. According to, you know, the Internet.)


	2. Chapter 2

Cassian had made Lucien exchange cell numbers with him before Feysand got back. So far he was very nearly regretting it – despite Lucien’s obvious skill as a photographer, he kept sending Cassian blurry pictures of guys lifting weights at the gym with the caption _is this u_.

But finally, Cassian had a chance to use number as he’d intended.

_When should I pick u up?_ he texted to Lucien bright and early Monday morning.

_id hopd ud forgotten about that_ he got back five minutes later. He was surprised Lucien had responded so fast – he’d expected him to be asleep, as any sensible person should be at the god-awful hour at which Cassian awoke.

_Nope, sorry. What time?_

He was still waiting for Lucien’s reply when his 6am Tai Chi class started to trickle in, so he put his phone in his bag. Once he’d waved all the businesspeople too hipster to do yoga out the door nearly an hour later, he grabbed it again, expecting a text from a few minutes after his own. Cassian frowned when there was no message notification on his phone. He decided to give Lucien the benefit of the doubt. For now.

But by eleven he was done with that nonsense.

_If u don’t tell me what time 2 pick u up I’m going 2 come and park outside ur house._

He grinned as his phone pinged not five minutes later:  _come by at 1 tmrw. u suk._

Cassian grinned. _;) See u at 1._

 

At exactly one o’clock, Cassian pulled up in front of the apartment complex. _I’m here_ , he texted.

_cant be. all i see is the ugliest ass truck iv ever seen._

Cassian decided, in lieu of texting back, to lay on the horn.

Almost immediately, the door flew open, and Lucien practically fell down the stairs in his rush to get to the truck. Before he got in, he went over to the driver’s side and pounded on the roof. “Cut it out, you ass.”

Cassian released the horn and rolled down the window. “Happy to see me?”

“Shut up,” Lucien grumbled. He went around to the passenger side, wrenched open the door, and flung himself into the seat.

“So, where are we going?” Cassian asked, starting up the truck.

“Just start driving. I’ll tell you where to turn.”

“We going to a strip club, Lu? Because I gotta say, I’m all out of singles,” Cassian said, glancing over with a grin. “Also, put your seatbelt on.”

“You’re not my mom.”

“Yeah, but I’m driving, and I’m not moving until your seatbelt is on.”

“ _God_ , Cass.” But Lucien buckled himself in. “There. Happy?”

“Yep,” Cassian said cheerfully.

“Take a right at the first light.” Lucien settled back into the seat, staring out the side window.

“Gotcha.” Cassian tapped the steering wheel lightly. “So. You were up early today.”

“So were you.”

“Yeah, but I’m up early every day.” Now that Lucien was sitting next to him, Cassian could see that the other man looked paler than he had before, his golden-brown skin pasty, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Lucien muttered.

“Well, as I said, I’m always up early, so… if you ever need someone to talk to…” Cassian ventured. “I teach a class at six, so I’m usually up at four-thirty or five.”

“Take a right on Aspen,” Lucien said. “Then get on the freeway going east. You don’t want to talk to me at five in the morning, trust me.”

Cassian turned onto the on-ramp. “Pssh. All I do from when I get up until the class is shower and drink a smoothie.”

“A smoothie.” Lucien’s voice dripped with incredulity and sarcasm.

“Hey, what do you have against smoothies?”

“Nothing. I love smoothies. I just thought you’d be the guy that eats, like, a pound of bacon a day.” He leaned over and ran a finger down Cassian’s forearm. “I wouldn’t think you get like this from smoothies.”

Cassian’s face warmed. “I usually grab breakfast at the café on 15th,” he said. “That’s where the bacon comes in.”

“Never been.” Lucien turned back to the window.

“Great hashbrowns, fresh orange juice. Coffee so strong it’ll take the roof off your mouth. You should come sometime – I know Rhys’s coffee is shit.”

Lucien snorted. “Yeah, tasted it once, never again. I think he and Feyre get Starbucks most days. Must be nice.”

Cassian glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“To have the money to get a five-dollar latte every morning,” Lucien said, a bitter note in his voice.

“Yeah…” Cassian let out a brief breath. “I get you there.”

“You’re going to want to take Exit 285,” Lucien said. Then, unbidden, “I don’t have a fucking penny.”

Cassian didn’t respond. There was that tension to Lucien again that told him not to ask questions.

“Not a fucking one.” Lucien leaned over further and laid his cheek against the window. “Tamlin always just paid for everything… if Feyre and Rhysand decide they don’t want me living with them anymore, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Shit, man,” Cassian said. Lucien’s voice had gone very soft again. “You can always crash at my place.”

“Thanks,” Lucien said. “I just… God. I hate him.”

“Tamlin?” Cassian asked.

Lucien didn’t respond. “Here,” he said. “Exit here…”

Cassian shifted gears as he headed in the direction Lucien indicated. He waited for Lucien to resume, but he didn’t, just continued giving directions.

 

“We’re here.”

Cassian looked at the sign:  _St. Joseph Medical Center_. Then he looked at Lucien. The other man’s back was hunched, and he was steadfastly not looking at Cassian. Or getting out of the car.

“Lu?” Cassian asked quietly.

“I come here for therapy three times a week,” Lucien said after a moment.

“Depression?”

Lucien nodded, eyes still downcast. “And PTSD.”

Cassian nodded as well. “Want me to walk you in?”

“No, I… I’m good.”

“How long? I can stay here.”

“About half an hour. You sure?”

“Totally.” He opened the glove compartment and pulled out a paperback. “I keep trashy novels in here for exactly this kind of situation.”

“All right. If you’re sure.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure. Get your skinny ass out of the car,” Cassian said with a grin.

A smile ghosted over Lucien’s face. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll… be back soon.” He slipped out of the truck.

Cassian watched until the clinic doors shut behind him.

 

“So. How’d it go?” Cassian closed his book and tossed it into the backseat.

“Fine.”

Cassian waited, but that was all Lucien said. “You sure?”

He closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

Cassian started the truck. “Seatbelt,” he said. “I’m taking you to that café.”

Lucien buckled in without opening his eyes. “I’m not hungry.”

“Well, I am, and my next class doesn’t start for an hour,” Cassian said, pulling out of the parking lot. “Also… feel free to tell me to fuck off, but are there any triggers I should know about?”

Lucien let out a soft sigh. “Yelling. Things… breaking.”

Cassian’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Anything else?” he said. “Or… anything that helps when…” He trailed off.

“Talking softly helps,” Lucien said. “Um…” He almost seemed embarrassed. “Don’t… don’t touch my face unless I say so, but the backs of my hands are okay.”

“I’ll remember that,” Cassian said.

Neither of them said another word until Cassian pulled into the café parking lot.

He opened the truck door, then paused. “You don’t have to come in,” he said. “If you don’t want to.”

“What, and miss seeing whether this place lives up to your hype? Not a chance,” Lucien said.

“I’m buying you a cup of coffee, then. Since I insisted on dragging you here.”

Lucien hesitated for a second, discomfort written on his face, then nodded. “I’d like that, actually,” he said.

“I bet a drink would help more, but two is a little early for alcohol, so coffee will have to do,” Cassian said.

“I owe you,” Lucien said. “First you drive me across town, and now –”

“Hey.” Cassian interrupted, putting a hand on his arm. “You don’t owe me anything. Friends can do favors for each other. No debts, no bargains. Okay?”

“I thought we weren’t friends.” But Cassian could hear something fragile in Lucien’s voice under the veneer of snark.

“Too bad,” Cassian said bracingly, swinging out of the truck. “Apparently we are now.”

“God.” Lucien dropped to the ground. “You’re so…”

“Charming? Annoying? Awe-inspiring? Sexy?”

Lucien flushed. “… _nice_.”

Cassian felt a lurching in the pit of his stomach. The fact that Lucien felt a need to comment on that, when all Cassian was doing was driving him to an appointment and paying a dollar fifty for a cup of coffee… “That’s me,” he said. “Nice. Rhys might say nauseatingly so.”

“I don’t blame him there.” Lucien followed him into the café, looking around with a raised eyebrow. “Nice place.”

“I know you’re being sarcastic, and I don’t care,” Cassian said, sliding into a booth by the window. “Hey, Janine.”

“Hey, Cassian.” The waitress who’d headed over as soon as they walked in the door set two cups on the table and filled them with coffee. “The usual?”

“Yep. How’s the sourdough today?”

“Even if I said it was moldy, you would still order it,” Janine accused.

“Called out,” Cassian admitted. “Take it easy on the toaster this time. My friend here has a sensitive palate.”

“You got it.” The waitress winked at him, then headed back to the kitchen.

“Cream and sugar?” Cassian asked Lucien.

“I told you I wasn’t hungry,” Lucien said grumpily. “…Just sugar.”

Cassian stirred a spoonful of sugar into Lucien’s coffee and pushed it across the table. “I know. They burn my toast every time. I thought maybe that would get them not to.”

Lucien studied his surroundings. “My eyes are bleeding. I’ve never seen so much linoleum and blue-and-white check in my life. How do you stand it?”

“Are you kidding? This place is the best. All the fun of the fifties without the racism.” Cassian grinned as he dumped half the jug of cream into his coffee.

“Good thing. Neither of us would be allowed to be here in the fifties.”

Cassian lifted his eyebrows. “I bet you could get in, with all that pretty hair. And then you could sneak me in.”

Lucien looked Cassian over from head to foot, slowly enough that Cassian took a hasty gulp of his coffee. “Sneak you in. Sure. Sounds doable. It’s not like you stand out or anything, after all.”

“Okay, yeah, that probably wouldn’t work,” Cassian agreed. “So let’s just enjoy the fact that you don’t have to smuggle me in under your coat like a watch dealer.”

Lucien choked on his coffee. “A what?”

“You know, when the guy opens his coat, and he’s like, ‘hey, buddy, wanna buy a watch?’”

“Cassian?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know I am, but what are you? Thanks, Janine,” Cassian added as the waitress slid a plate in front of him.

“You want a warmup, hon?” Janine asked Lucien, tapping her coffeepot.

“Oh – thank you,” Lucien said, letting her refill his cup.

“’Course. Any friend of Cassian’s is a friend of mine,” she said with a wink.

“We’re not friends,” Lucien said weakly as Janine walked away.

“Don’t mind her,” Cassian said, digging into his food with almost indecent enthusiasm. “She means well.”

“I don’t,” Lucien said, and he shifted slightly in his chair. “Mind her, that is.”

Cassian followed Lucien’s gaze to his plate. “You sure you don’t want any?” he asked.

“Well… I wouldn’t say no to a piece of that toast,” Lucien said, biting his lip. “And a few of the mushrooms, maybe.”

A smile blossomed on Cassian’s face in spite of himself. “Here – give me your saucer.” He took the dish and piled it high with mushrooms, balancing a piece of toast on top. “There might be some residual bacon grease – hope you don’t mind.”

“Not really. It’s just meat itself I don’t like.” Lucien pulled the plate back towards him.

“Can’t say I relate, but okay,” Cassian said, licking his fork clean. “You can have an egg, too, if you want. I have three.”

“Ugh. Fine,” Lucien said. “But I’m using my own fork after what you’ve done to that one.”

“What – this?” Cassian licked the fork again, more slowly.

Color rose sharply in Lucien’s cheeks. “Ass,” he said, stabbing one of Cassian’s eggs and transferring it to his saucer.

“I should start a swear jar,” Cassian said. “That’s at least the third time you’ve said that today alone.”

“Only if I can start a filthy innuendo jar,” Lucien snapped, spearing a mushroom with unwonted venom.

“I bet I can fill my jar before you do,” Cassian challenged.

Lucien groaned. “Not another bet. Rhys said that if I spent any more of the allowance he’s giving me on, quote, ‘idiotic bets with my idiotic brother,’ he’d cut it off.” It was clearly a joke – Cassian knew that – and yet…

“It really bothers you, doesn’t it?” Cassian said quietly. “That you have to rely on them like that.”

Lucien concentrated on cutting a mushroom into halves, then quarters, then eighths. “They’re being so generous to me. More than I deserve, that’s for sure, after the shit I let Tamlin do to Feyre. But sometimes…” Cassian sat quietly, letting him gather his thoughts. “Sometimes, it just feels like a transfer of prisons. I don’t have to worry about –” He cut off. “– about a lot of things anymore, but my life still… isn’t my own.”

Cassian nodded. “How so?” he asked quietly.

Lucien set his fork and knife down with a soft clink. “I have to rely on them for everything. I have no car, no money, no job. No… nothing.”

Cassian heard in that _I am nothing_ , and his heart twisted.

He’d been right, the other day, about two things:  first, that it was indeed like Lucien was Feyre’s and Rhys’s child, or at least that they thought of him that way. And second…

Lucien didn’t just look like he should be stuck in a tower. He was.

“What would you need?”

“What?” Lucien looked up, and his good eye was dull, the russet-brown of the iris hooded in shadow.

“What would you need to feel like your life was your own?”

Lucien stared at him for a second, then blinked. “I… don’t know.”

“I think you do,” Cassian said quietly. Challenging him – pushing him just enough. At least, that’s what he hoped.

Lucien took a small bite of the food before him, chewing mechanically. “I guess the first thing would be to have a job,” he said at length. “An income. And… maybe a bank account of my own.”

Cassian felt hot anger roil in his stomach for the first time (though somehow he doubted it would be the last), along with the thought that he wanted to _kill_ Tamlin. But he pushed it aside. That wasn’t important right now. “And you think that would help?”

“…Yeah. I think it might,” Lucien said softly.

“Then I’ll help you find a job,” Cassian said. Then he grinned. “In fact, I already have an idea…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll have to wait until the next chapter to see the job I have lined up for Lucien. It's a good one.
> 
> Come join me on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	3. Chapter 3

They were finally there, and Lucien wouldn’t get out of the truck.

“No,” he said flatly, head back against the seat. “No, Cass, okay?”

“Come on, Lu,” Cassian said, exasperated. “It’s not going to kill you.”

“Fuck off, _Cassian_.”

Cassian studied the other man through the open window. Body limp, as if he’d been tossed into the vehicle by someone who didn’t both to arrange his limbs properly. Eyes staring straight out the windshield. Mouth set in a line – Lucien’s normally thin lips, quick to smirk or snark, were almost invisible.

“It’s just the library, Lucien,” Cassian said quietly.

“Maybe I’ve become suddenly and dramatically allergic to paper. Ever thought of that?”

Cassian paused, then slowly went back around to the driver’s side of the truck and got in.

They sat that way – both looking forwards, neither acknowledging the other – for nearly fifteen minutes.

Lucien was the first one to crack, letting out a long, shaky breath. “Sorry.”

“No. I’m sorry,” Cassian said. “I should’ve listened to you the first time. Forgive me?”

Lucien nodded. “Yeah.”

Cassian glanced at him. “Is it… a job in general? Or libraries in particular? Or…”

“Both,” Lucien said after a moment. “My dad – my birth dad –” Cassian shifted, but didn’t ask him to clarify. “– has a thing with libraries. But more than that…” He paused to brace himself. “What if I can’t _get_ a job? If I’m not qualified, or not what they want, or just not – enough?”

“Then we’ll find you a different one,” Cassian said. “All sorts of morons get jobs. Hell, all sorts of morons run this city, and yes, I include Rhys in that count. The question really is, do you want to try?”

Lucien stared out the windshield, russet eye blank.

“It doesn’t have to be today.” Cassian had just taken Lucien to therapy for the third time, and he knew the other man could be a bit… vulnerable afterwards. He should’ve remembered this – should’ve planned accordingly – but he’d been too excited about his idea. There was just something about Lucien that occasionally made him lose his mind utterly, which he also should’ve remembered.

“No. Today isn’t that much worse than any other day would be.” Lucien exhaled again, like he was reminding himself to breathe. “Just… give me a minute.”

Cassian nodded, pulling out his phone. He’d come to realize, even in the short time he’d known Lucien, that this happened a lot – gaps of silence that the other man seemed to need to catch up. Slow down. Get centered. Cassian didn’t really know which. Cassian was already used to filling these spaces with silent tasks. He’d read, or watch MMA videos with one headphone in, or text his brothers to tell them when he was free to get drinks. Lucien didn’t mind. He appreciated it, in fact – it allowed them communion without Lucien feeling like he was taking over Cassian’s life.

“All right,” Lucien said, sitting up in his seat.

Cassian turned off his phone and slipped it back into the pocket of his jeans. “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

They both got out of the truck, Cassian locking the doors behind them, then headed across the parking lot to the library.

It was an oddly incongruous building, even in the mainly-residential area where Cassian spent most of his time. It was all sharp, elegant angles on the outside:  crystal-clear windows and navy blue accents and LIBRARY printed in large, serifed letters over the front door. But once they got inside, Cassian thought as they walked through the heavy glass doors, it was very different. The walls were painted a comforting peachy-pink, and Cassian knew from experience that as long as you behaved and treated the books well, there were little nooks with rocking chairs and beanbags where you could stay for as long as you wanted. It was a haven, and had been as long as he remembered. He often saw homeless people, both men and women, sleeping at the worn wooden tables, and there were always a few tired adults printing out coupons for cat food or lugging their young children to storytime in the warm, brightly-lit basement. Once you got past the austere exterior, it was a place of safety.

It was, Cassian thought, not unlike the woman who worked there.

“Nesta,” he said, a smile spreading across his face as they approached the circulation desk.

The brown-haired woman, who looked to be in her late thirties, examined Cassian over the top of her glasses. “Cassian,” she said shortly.

He leaned against the desk, bracing his forearms on the surface. “C’mon, Nes, aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Not until you’ve paid your fines,” she said, turning a page in her book.

Cassian’s smile fell. “Damn. I forgot all about that. How much?” He dug in his pockets, pulling out his wallet.

“Six dollars and twenty-two cents,” Nesta said without looking up.

Cassian counted out the cash and placed it on the desk. “ _Now_ are you glad to see me?”

Nesta gathered up the money, counted it twice, put it in the register nearby, then typed something into the computer. Finally, she looked up, taking off her glasses and closing them with a small click. Her blue-grey eyes took both of them in, and the corner of her mouth quirked slightly. “Let’s go with that I don’t object to your presence. Who’s your little friend?” She pointed at Lucien with her glasses.

“This is Lucien,” Cassian said, stepping back to stand beside him.

“Nes? Who’re you talking to?” A lovely woman with blonde hair going grey at the roots and warm brown eyes strode out of the back office. She was wearing a sharp business suit. Her face tightened as she took them in. “Lucien Kelly. What are _you_ doing here?”

Lucien looked vaguely ill. “I should go,” he muttered, turning as if to leave.

“Wait,” Cassian said. “Mor? A word?”

Mor waited until the door to Nesta’s office was closed before exploding – quietly. “What the hell, Cassian?” she hissed.

“I could ask you the same,” he snapped, then sighed. “Sorry. Listen. I know you haven’t spent a lot – any – time with him, but it’s not what you think. Feyre brought him with her because he was a victim of Tamlin’s abuse just as much as she was. I don’t know his whole story, but he’s gone through some shit, and he needs a fresh start.”

Mor tapped the toe of her shoe lightly on the carpet as she thought. Finally, she ran a hand through her hair, raised her eyes to heaven, and nodded. “You know I’d never deny a trauma victim help,” she said. “And I suppose as long as Feyre’s forgiven him…”

“She has. He’s been living with her and Rhys, actually.”

“Which he didn’t bother to tell me about,” Mor added in a grumpy sort of voice.

Cassian smiled. “You sound like Nes. She’s rubbing off on you.”

Mor’s face softened at the mention of her wife. “Well, we have been married nearly ten years. I should hope so.”

“Just give him a chance, Mor,” Cassian said softly. “Please. For me.”

Mor nodded. “I will. Can’t promise anything about Nesta, though.”

“Oh, I think they’ll get along swimmingly,” Cassian said, pushing the door back open and heading out from behind the desk.

“Who will?” Nesta asked, one finger marking her place in her book.

“You and Lucien,” Cassian said. “Seeing as he’s applying for a job here.”

Nesta’s gaze snapped to Lucien. “You are, are you?”

Lucien shifted slightly. “I was hoping so. Are there… forms I can fill out, something like that?”

Nesta sighed, flipped through a folder, and handed him a few sheets stapled together. “Get this back to me by the end of the day today,” she instructs. “And I’ll consider it.”

“I won’t have any references.”

“You have Cassian,” Nesta remarked. Something like a smile crossed her face. “In terms of character, at least, I trust his word. You’ll have to prove the rest of it.”

“Thanks,” Lucien said. “Cass… do you mind if…?” He gestured to the forms.

“Not at all. Here – I’ll show you someplace to fill them out.” Cassian grabbed a pen from the desk, winked at Nesta (who scowled at him), and led the way deeper into the library.

“So,” Lucien said, following Cassian through the shelves.

“So,” Cassian agreed.

“Nesta seems… nice.”

“She warms up to you,” Cassian said.

“How long have you two known each other?”

“For what seems like forever,” he replied. “She worked here as a volunteer when I was a kid. She was just a teenager herself, then, but she’d keep an eye on me when I’d sleep at the tables, you know? Make sure no one disturbed me…”

“You…” Lucien sounded startled.

Cassian glanced over his shoulder. “I was homeless, on my own, from when I was about five to a few months after I turned nine,” he said baldly. “That’s when Rhys and his mom came into the picture. Spoiled little rich kid that Rhys was, he saw me on the street and asked in that snotty way he still has sometimes why I was so dirty. Obviously, I punched him in the face.”

Lucien’s eye widened. “What happened?”

Cassian laughed a little. “His mom broke us up before either of us could do anything but give each other bloody noses and a black eye apiece. She asked me if I had anywhere to sleep. I said no. She asked if I wanted one. I said yes.” Cassian turned away from Lucien again. “She… I was part of their family from then on. Just like that,” he said, blinking away the sudden sting of tears in his eyes. He’d thought fifteen years would make it hurt less. He’d been wrong.

“What… if you don’t mind talking about it,” Lucien ventured after a moment. “What happened to her? Rhys said his parents were dead.”

“Leukemia,” Cassian said softly. “When Rhys and I were fifteen and Azriel was thirteen.”

“I’m sorry.” Cassian stopped at the feeling of Lucien’s cool hand on his arm. “Cass?”

“Yeah?” He turned and looked at the other man.

“She sounds like a wonderful woman,” Lucien said. “And a wonderful mother.”

“She was.” Cassian swiped a quick hand across his face. “Here’s the place.” He sank into a nearby beanbag chair, leaving Lucien the cushioned chair before the table. “Take your time filling out the application. If I know Nesta, it’s long and complicated.”

“Right.” Lucien sat down and started filling in blanks, but then put the pen down. “So that’s Nesta. And Mor… knows me already.”

“She knows _of_ you,” Cassian corrected. “She’s Rhys’s VP – they’re good friends. She would’ve heard about you from him or Feyre.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, by the way. I didn’t think she’d react like that. I didn’t think she’d even be here.”

Lucien propped his chin in one hand, balancing his elbow on the edge of the table. “I’m not really surprised. I can’t blame her. I… I let Tamlin abuse Feyre for months and turned a blind eye.” He tapped his cheekbone over his scar. “She was sick. She was my friend, and she was _sick_ , and hurting, and I did nothing about it. She was right – what she said to me in that alley. I gave up on her.”

Cassian looked up sharply. Lucien’s skin had a pasty hue to it, and he looked like he was going to be sick. Immediately, Cassian got up and sat in the chair next to Lucien. “Lu?”

Lucien shook his head, eyes blind. “I told her not to take me with her,” he said hoarsely. “I told her… to leave me there…” His hands dropped into his lap. They were trembling.

“Lucien.” Very slowly, Cassian reached out and touched the backs of Lucien’s hands. “Listen to me. You’re here in the library. You’re safe. And it is _not your fault_.”

Lucien’s breath shuddered in his throat. He didn’t respond.

Cassian let the warm weight of his palms cover Lucien’s hands, which were splayed like he wasn’t aware of their presence. “Lucien,” he said again. “Tamlin hurt you, too. What he did isn’t your fault.” He swallowed, then, “You deserve to be safe. You deserve to be happy. And you deserve to have your own life. That’s why you’re here.”

Then he waited.

It was a long, long moment before Lucien’s eyes met his.

“What do you need?” Cassian asked.

“Just – just stay here for a minute. Like this. With your hands on mine,” Lucien whispered. His head tipped forward as if his neck couldn’t support it.

“Okay.”

Cassian didn’t know how long they sat there. He felt as if he could’ve sat there forever, with his hands resting on Lucien’s and the other man’s head bent, red hair falling in a curtain around his face. It was like a dream. They were both so quiet, he thought he could hear Lucien’s heartbeat. It sounded, in his head, like the whir of a hummingbird’s wings. Like when you listened to a baby’s heartbeat on an ultrasound and you couldn’t identify single beats – just a constant _a-whoosh a-whoosh a-whoosh_ , as if the baby’s heart was beating so fast everything ran together. That’s what Lucien’s heart would sound like, Cassian thought. Quick as his tongue. Vulnerable as his soul.

Eventually, Lucien’s breath quieted, and he lifted his head. “Thanks,” he said, eyes still lowered.

“Hey. No problem,” Cassian said with a small smile. “Anytime.” He took his hands away, but immediately missed that point of contact. It felt like breaking a circuit – disconnected and wrong.

“I’ll, um, finish filling this out, then,” Lucien said, picking up his pen once more.

“Only do it if you want to,” Cassian told him. “I – you know, I didn’t ask if you wanted to work here, really. I won’t be offended if you want to try somewhere else.”

Lucien shook his head, pushing his hair out of his face and tucking it behind one ear. “No, I like it here,” he admitted. “It’s quiet. Organized. And I like books. I haven’t read a lot lately, and I’d like to start again.”

“What about Nesta?”

That actually drew a smile out of him. “I like her, too.”

“After one meeting?” Cassian leaned back in his chair with a laugh. “It usually takes people at least five to warm up to her at all. And most give up before then.”

“No, really,” Lucien said. “I mean, sure, she’s prickly, maybe even ornery, but she’s…” He trailed off, seemingly unable to find a suitable word.

“Safe,” Cassian said quietly.

Lucien turned to him. “Yeah. Safe. How… did you know?”

“How did I know what?”

“That this would be a good place for me.”

Cassian considered that, tipping his chair back on two legs. “Lucky guess?”

“Well – thanks. I owe you. Assuming I get the job.”

“As I said the other day, friends can do favors for each other,” Cassian said firmly. “If you really want to do me a favor in return, you can cook me dinner sometime. Rhys and Feyre have that nice kitchen, I’m sure they’d –”

“I can’t cook,” Lucien interrupted.

Cassian let his chair’s legs fall back to the floor with a thump. “When you say you can’t cook,” he began, “do you mean –”

“I can’t even crack an egg, Cass,” Lucien said, tone ironic. “I mean, I could microwave you a pizza, but I don’t think that’s exactly what you had in mind.”

“There’s only one solution to this, obviously,” Cassian informed him, leaning forwards and raising a single finger. “I have to teach you to cook.”

Color rose sharply in Lucien’s cheeks. It would’ve been hard for Cassian to believe he’d looked so sick a few minutes ago, if not for the lingering tremor in his hands. “I thought the point was for me to do something nice for _you_.”

“You will,” Cassian said with a grin. “You’ll give me an excuse to, one, make food for people, which is one of my favorite pastimes; two, teach someone something, which is my other one; and three, make sure you’ll never starve if you’re equipped with a stove, a frying pan, and an uncracked egg. You know the saying. Give a man a fish, and he’ll eat for a day. Teach a man to fish…”

“I already know how to fish,” Lucien informed him, his cheeks still rather pink.

“You do?” Cassian said. “You never cease to surprise me, Lu.”

Lucien smiled at that. “I camped a lot when I was younger. I, um, taught myself to catch trout in the streams.” He paused. “With my bare hands.”

“Lucien,” Cassian said, genuinely impressed. “That’s some _Mulan_ shit right there. I’m impressed, bro.”

Lucien ducked his head to hide his growing smile. “One of my few talents. Along with charming business moguls and arranging flowers.”

“All right, then if I ever need any flowers arranged, you’re the man I’ll call,” Cassian said. “And you can teach me the fish-catching thing sometime. Deal?”

“Deal,” Lucien agreed. “How do _you_ know how to cook, anyways?”

“Rhys’s mom made sure we all knew how to do that kind of stuff. Cook, clean, do our own laundry. She didn’t want us to be…” Cassian trailed off uncertainly. “…dependent on anyone.”

“Makes sense,” Lucien said with a sigh. “You can see where that gets you. Twenty-six, unemployed, and living in your friend’s apartment.”

“Not unemployed for long,” Cassian reminded him, tapping the application. “You done with that?”

“Yeah, almost.” Lucien bent over the forms again. After a moment, though, he straightened up again. “Why the hell does she want me to say what my favorite food is?” he asked.

“Oh, that’s so if she finds any food stains in her books, she can identify the culprit,” Cassian said. “I think she started that a couple years ago after an employee left boysenberry jam all over her favorite copy of _On the Back of the North Wind_.”

Lucien shrugged and started writing. Cassian craned his neck, but he couldn’t read Lucien’s spiky handwriting upside down.

“Would you like to see?”

Cassian started, his neck heating, to find Lucien smirking at him. “You seem curious. Here.” He flipped the paper around.

_Apple pie_ , Cassian read. “I would’ve thought you’d like some neo-vegan crap.”

Lucien pulled the papers back towards him and started writing again. “I’m vegetarian, not vegan, Cass,” he reminded the other man. “Also, just because I don’t eat meat, it doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy food.”

“Wait.” Cassian narrowed his eyes. “You said you caught fish.”

Lucien flushed, glancing up. “Guilty. Fish is different. Sometimes I’m a pescatarian?”

Cassian laughed. “I’m not judging you. So, hypothetically, if I cooked salmon sometime, would you eat it?”

“Probably,” Lucien admitted. “My doctor says it’s good for me to get whatever good oils and stuff are in fish.”

“And also you like it.”

Lucien glared at him. Cassian just lifted his eyebrows, so he sighed. “Yes. And also I like it.” He put down his pen. “There. Application complete.”

“Awesome.” Cassian checked his watch, stood up, and stretched. “Back to the circulation desk, and then do you want me to drop you off at Feysand’s before my class at four?”

“Yeah, sure.” Lucien stood up as well. “Let’s go.”

 

It wasn’t until Cassian stopped the truck in front of Rhys and Feyre’s place that Lucien asked, “Cass? Do you really think I could get that job?”

“Yeah,” Cassian said. “And not just because I’m your friend. I really do.”

“We’re not friends,” Lucien said automatically, but he was smiling all the way up to the door, when he turned and waved at Cassian before the other man drove away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr as birdiethebibiophile!


	4. Chapter 4

“So. I hear you got Lucien a job.”

Cassian shifted the phone to his other ear so he could drag the punching bags into the storage closet. “He got himself the job. I just vouched for his character. And drove him to the library.”

Cassian could picture Feyre on the other end of the phone, her forehead scrunched in thought. “Still – thanks. Thank God, is what I say. He’s been driving me and Rhys crazy, hanging around the house all day.”

“Not like he’s had much of a choice,” Cassian said sternly, pulling the door closed and locking it. “Since he doesn’t have a car.”

“I know, I know. It’s not his fault.” Feyre sighed. “I’m trying, Cass, I really am. It just makes the apartment feel a little cramped, and there’s some things we can’t talk about in front of him… I don’t mind. Really. I’m glad he’s away from Tamlin. But sometimes I wish he could be away from Tamlin somewhere else.”

“He’s gone through a lot,” Cassian reminded her. “He needs a safe space to recover. You didn’t object when Elain’s lease was up before she could find a new place, and she spent a couple weeks with you.”

“But that was Elain! I love them both, but she’s quiet and thoughtful, and he’s –”

Cassian sighed dramatically, cutting her off. “Did you just call me to talk about Lucien?”

“Maybe. You too have been seeing each other almost every day. He talks about you a lot. Well, you know, a lot for Lucien.”

“We’re friends.”

“Yeah, I thought so, but whenever I say that, he vehemently denies that you are.”

Cassian grinned. That was Lucien, all right. “He’s been denying it from the beginning. He’ll give in one of these days.”

“I figured. So, when are you going to ask him out?”

Cassian nearly dropped the barbell he was putting away on his foot. He _did_ drop his phone. Hurriedly, he replaced the weights and grabbed the phone again. “Sorry, lost you for a minute there. I thought you asked me when I was going to ask Lucien out.”

Feyre laughed. “I did. Come on, I know he likes you – he has an emoji after your name in his contacts. And he has a picture of your ass on his camera roll.”

Cassian scowled at her through the phone. “If you’ve been breaking into that man’s phone, I’m going to come over and kick your ass, you know,” he informed her.

“It was once! I couldn’t find my phone and used his to call it. He really needs to think of a better password than _gingerhottie13_. It’s his screenname, too.”

Cassian, much to his chagrin, realized he would never be able to unlearn that bit of information, and resolved to tell Lucien to change his password as soon as possible. “Maybe I’ll just kick your ass in kickboxing tomorrow, then.”

“Feel free,” Feyre said cheerfully. “But we’re off-topic. We were discussing how you should ask Lucien out.”

Cassian sighed, finished cleaning up the weight room, and grabbed his phone from between his ear and shoulder. “Give it a rest, Feyre. He doesn’t need a boyfriend. He needs a friend.”

“Okay, okay! All I was going to say is that if you hurt him, I’m making sure you end up at the bottom of the bay. And you know that’s not an idle threat, coming from me.”

That finally drew a laugh out of Cassian. “No worries there. Hey, you know what – how about the three of you come over for dinner on Friday? It’ll ease your mind. You, me, Rhys, Lucien. I’ll grill if you bring a couple sides.”

“Sure,” Feyre said. “And you can tell us how your studio’s going. Gym. Whatever. We haven’t seen enough of you lately.”

“And whose fault is that?” Cassian pulled the gym’s door closed behind him and locked it. “You and Rhys been so obsessed with that new business deal that you haven’t had time for anything else.”

“I know.” Feyre sighed. “It’s important, Cassian. You know that.”

“I do know. But it’s not the most important thing.” Cassian shook his head. “Anyway. Friday at six?”

“Sounds good. We’ll bring wine and potato salad or something. See you then.” The line went dead.

Cassian climbed into his truck, tossed his phone onto the passenger seat, and leaned his head on the steering wheel for a moment.

He loved them. He loved Feyre and Rhys, but sometimes he didn’t… like them a whole lot.

Rhys had always been this way. Ambitious. A little pretentious. Cutthroat, even. Cassian didn’t blame him, exactly – you didn’t manage a multi-million dollar company by being nice – but sometimes he worried. Rhys walked a very dangerous edge. He and Feyre tried so hard to be the good guys, with their secret charity, and the way they did their best to keep the drug trafficking out of the city, but sometimes all Cassian saw was that smug little kid who couldn’t understand why another kid was so dirty. Who needed, more than anything, a punch in the face to bring him down to earth.

Feyre had always been a bit the same. Not that Cassian blamed her. Both of them knew what it was like to be poor – and to be angry. But though he understood her, he couldn’t always agree with her. Sometimes he thought being with Rhys had brought out a side of her that could be cruel. Like Rhys himself.

Cassian wondered how many hours a day Lucien was alone in that apartment. Rhys – and Feyre, for that matter – were sometimes so focused on helping people in general that sometimes they overlooked the one person who needed help right in front of them. Not always. In Rhys’s best moments, he could see… _everything_. When he made Mor his VP, or when he rescued Feyre and got her into therapy. Those were the times when Cassian could most see their mother in him:  perceptive, hardass, and thoughtful to a fault. Feyre was similar:  she would risk her life and more for the people she loved. She’d sacrificed everything for Tamlin and for the city, and she was always the first one in and the last one out when there was a fight of any kind. Fighters – that’s what she and Rhys were. Warriors.

Then again, there were the times Cassian looked at Rhys and only saw Laren, Rhys’s father. It was the part of him that could make the big changes, including this business deal with the other major CEOs of Prythian, the part of him that had ruthlessly hunted down Hybern’s drug pushers, the part that had quietly endured Amarantha’s rule for five years. The part that knew to win the war, sometimes you had to lose the battle.

The part that didn’t see that sometimes the battle was what mattered, because the battle was where real people were. People like Lucien.

Cassian wasn’t stupid. He knew there was more going on with Lucien’s story than he’d been told. Everyone and their sister knew the gossip – that Lucien’s mother, Merina, had had an affair with Helion, the CEO of Fusion Cosmetics, and that the affair had resulted in Lucien. He now had ties to four different companies and their respective CEOs:  Beron, Helion, Tamlin, and now Rhys. And meanwhile Lucien himself was trying to take pictures on his phone and work at the library like nothing was wrong.

What Cassian wanted to do was get Lucien out of the fray altogether. This deal Rhys was putting together was going to blow up sooner or later, and Lucien was much too close to ground zero for Cassian’s liking. And he didn’t think any of them saw it.

He’d gotten himself out long ago. He’d promised himself, when Renata died, that he wasn’t touching the “business side of things” (as Rhys called it) with a ten-foot pole.

The others’ answer was revenge. Cassian’s was fucking right off, as he knew she would’ve wanted.

He’d stayed friends with Rhys and Azriel. They were his brothers, after all. He was friends with Feyre, too, once she showed up. But he saw how they lived – saw how they waged war and then shrugged it off like they were living dual lives – and he knew he couldn’t do it.

He didn’t think Lucien could, either. He’d tried to under Tamlin, and it had nearly killed him. But Lucien didn’t know how to separate the two, and until he learned, he was in a very vulnerable position, Cassian thought.

Well. If there was one thing he was good at, it was protecting people.

Cassian sighed and sat up. He’d told Feyre the truth – what Lucien needed wasn’t a relationship. He was still figuring himself out. He didn’t need to have the added burden of figuring out someone else as well. Besides, Cassian knew about the picture of his ass. Lucien had been pretty blatant about taking it. It was teasing, that was all.

It was the battle that mattered right now, not the war. And if Cassian lost the war but Lucien won the battle… he could handle it. He had before.

Even if – _especially_ if – it meant that eventually, Lucien wouldn’t need him anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr as birdiethebibliophile!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all probably thought I was never going to update. JOKE'S ON YOU.

“Hi, Nesta.” Cassian balanced his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he piled whole-wheat lasagna noodles and canned tomatoes into the cart. “Whose phone are you calling from this time? I saved Mor’s number after last time, so I know it can’t be hers.”

It had been three and a half weeks since Lucien started working at the library, and Cassian had heard from Nesta on and off, mostly to complain – Lucien was too loud, or he was too quiet, or he didn’t line up the spines of the books how she liked. Cassian endured patiently, knowing she wasn’t saying a single one of these things to Lucien himself. If Nesta complained about you, it was because she liked you. It was only when she froze you out that you had a problem.

But this call was different.

“Cut the crap, Cass.” Nesta’s voice was sharp, annoyed, and – worried? “Have you seen Lucien? He didn’t turn up for work yesterday, and when he didn’t show up today either, I tried calling. I can’t get ahold of him.”

Cassian stomach sank. Lucien really liked his new job – wouldn’t stop talking about it, actually. Cassian heard about it from him twice as often as he heard from Nesta. Cassian couldn’t imagine him just ditching. “I’ll check in with him,” he assured Nesta. “Rhys probably took his phone or something.”

“Kick Rhys’s ass for me, will you?” Nesta said. “He needs it.”

“Will do,” Cassian said lightly. “Bye, Nesta.”

Once Nesta had hung up, Cassian headed straight for the checkout line, only pausing to grab tofu sausages. He had a sneaking suspicion as to why Lucien wasn’t showing up for work – and it didn’t have anything to do with Rhys or his phone.

*****

Half an hour later, his arms full of groceries and feeling even more concerned by the presence of Feyre’s car outside the apartment, Cassian walked up the stairs and knocked on the door.

Almost immediately, it opened to reveal a very frazzled-looking Feyre. “Thank God,” she said fervently. “I was just about to call you. I have to go, huge situation at work, Rhys needs me. Take care of it, will you?” She blew past him out the door and was pulling away from the curb in under a minute.

“…Right.” Cassian walked in, closing the door behind him. “Lu?”

There was no response.

Cassian set the groceries carefully on the counter, then went over to the couch. There was Lucien; and, as Cassian had suspected, he looked like shit. His hair was matted, which – combined with the general unkemptness of his clothes and the unwashed smell hanging around him – told Cassian he hadn’t showered in a couple days. His brown skin had the chalky hue Cassian had learned to associate with either lack of food and sleep or panic attacks, and Cassian would bet that it was both today. His closed eyes had dark circles under them.

Cassian touched Lucien’s hand as lightly as he could, but the other man still startled, eyes flickering though not opening.

“I’m here, just so you know,” Cassian said simply. “Feyre left for work.”

Lucien gave a very slight inclination of his head that might have been a nod.

Cassian stood up and headed back into the kitchen, where he started unloading his grocery bags. He hunted around Rhys’s cabinets for a few minutes to find the things he needed before getting to work.

It wasn’t until he’d closed the oven door that he stopped at a sound from the living room.

“Cass?”

Cassian tossed the towel he was using to wipe his hands onto the counter and went back into the living room. “Hey, asshole,” he said, attempting to lighten the heavy, suffocating misery that seemed to be emanating from Lucien. “Why didn’t you text me?”

“Fuck you.”

Lucien’s voice was rough and trembling, and Cassian immediately was kicking himself. This wasn’t like before the library. This was more serious, and he had to take it as such. He sighed, then went over and sat on the edge of the couch next to the prone Lucien. “Sorry, man. That was shitty of me. Wanna talk at all?”

Lucien shrugged. But one of his hands found Cassian’s and gripped it so tightly it hurt. “Fuck this,” he whispered.

“For real.” Cassian struggled for what to say. “Think you can take a shower?”

“I dunno.” Slowly, Lucien sat up. His eyes were open, but his eyelid sagged against his gold eye, as if he didn’t have the strength to keep it open, and his brown eye looked dull.

“Take your time,” Cassian said quietly. “How about I make some tea? With honey. You sound like your throat hurts.”

“No sleep,” Lucien muttered.

“Nightmares?”

He shook his head. “Just my shitty brain deciding to –” He stopped, and his voice caught in his throat like the beginning of a sob. “God. I can’t even –” He cut off again.

Cassian wanted to grab his shoulders, look him in the eyes. He wanted to beg Lucien to tell him what was wrong. But he knew none of that would do any good. “Lu?”

“I kept thinking I was back there,” Lucien choked out. “My fucking brain kept telling me I was back in Tamlin’s house. I can’t –” He gagged suddenly, and Cassian just had enough time to grab the trash can beside the couch before Lucien was throwing up into it. He must not have eaten for a while, or this wasn’t the first time he’d thrown up, because all that came up was bile.

Eventually, he sat up, shivering and wiping his mouth. “Guess I’m even more of a mess than you thought,” he said bitterly.

Cassian moved the trash can away again. He waited for Lucien to continue. When he didn’t, Cassian said hesitantly, “Even though Renata – Rhys’s mom – died fifteen years ago… it was so long ago, but sometimes I wake up and I forget she’s dead. Just for a minute. Is it like that?”

“It’s like…” Lucien clenched his hands into his hair. “I don’t know.”

Cassian let them sit in the silence, but he also carefully unwound Lucien’s fingers from his hair and placed them back in his lap.

“I had this camera,” Lucien said, so quietly Cassian could barely hear him. “A nice one, with a strap and different lenses and all that shit. I bought it for myself, senior year of high school.” He swallowed convulsively. “One day… He was mad. T-tamlin.” He stumbled over the name. “I can’t remember what about. I think maybe I had tried to get one of the other CEOs to agree to something, and they hadn’t, and I said something about how he should go over there himself instead of just sending me… Anyway, I was holding the camera.”

Part of Cassian wanted to plug his ears, to tell Lucien to stop. He could tell how this story was going to go.

“He grabbed the camera out of my hands,” Lucien said, voice shaking, “and hurled it against the wall. It broke – it shattered into a million pieces. I was so mad. I yelled at him – screamed at him – he told me to shut up and I wouldn’t. So he grabbed my arm and –” He broke off. “I told everyone I fell,” he finished, voice barely more than a whisper.

Cassian could imagine it so easily. Tamlin, with his golden hair and muscles, breaking Lucien’s camera in a fit of temper. And then, as if that wasn’t enough – breaking Lucien. It wouldn’t have taken much; Tamlin could probably encircle Lucien’s entire arm with one hand. A simple twist of his wrist. And then Lucien on the ground, clutching his arm, and Tamlin knowing that everyone would believe the story. That he could hurt Lucien like that as much as he wanted, and no one would question it – or care.

Cassian was surprised Lucien hadn’t thrown up again, considering how sick he himself felt just hearing about it, but Lucien only continued. “I can hear it, over and over. The crash. And then the snap…”

Cassian nodded. They sat there together for a moment, then, slowly, Lucien leaned in and rested his head on Cassian’s shoulder. “And I still miss him,” he whispered. “How fucked up is that?”

For a moment, Cassian thought Lucien was going to start crying – sobbing, shaking, unable to stop. But Lucien’s breathing caught one last time and then grew easier, like telling Cassian what had happened had been a sort of release – a cleansing. Cassian didn’t move, as if a butterfly had landed on him and he didn’t want to disturb it. They sat like that – side by side, Lucien’s head on Cassian’s shoulder – until the sound of the oven timer going off broke the silence. Lucien stirred, sitting up. “You should probably get that.” Then, after a moment’s hesitation, “What is it? It smells… good.”

“Lasagna,” Cassian said. “With vegetarian sausage. Want some?”

“Maybe later. You go get that. I’ll… shower.”

“Okay.”

*****

Lucien reappeared almost thirty minutes later, his hair still dripping and smelling much better. “How did you know to come?” he asked bluntly, sitting down at the table.

Cassian plunked a mug of chamomile tea with honey down in front of him. “Nesta called. She was worried.”

Lucien stared at the mug with blank eyes. “I… missed two days of work, didn’t I. Is she going to fire me?”

“Nah. She’s probably just going to recommend a whole bunch of books to you and give you a severe stare. Feyre, on the other hand…”

To Cassian’s surprise, Lucien’s voice took on a vicious, biting quality. “She needs to get over herself. She and Rhys.”

Cassian blinked. “Yeah?”

Lucien ran a finger over the wood of the table. “They think everyone who went through – through trauma is exactly like them.”

“What do you mean?”

Lucien let out a long, slow breath. “They’ve been… talking at me for days. Trying to – to goad me out of my ‘mood.’” He used air quotes for the last word. “Telling me to get off my ass and do something. Like that wasn’t the whole fucking problem. I heard them talking – I guess that’s what worked for Feyre. For both of them.” Lucien took a trembling breath, but this time it was clear that it was from anger, not a panic attack. “It doesn’t work for me.”

Cassian sat down next to him. “What _does_ work for you?”

“Fuck if I know. Space. Time. Letting me work through stuff at my own pace.” Lucien took a sip from his mug and made a face. “God, Cass, what is this? It tastes like shit.”

“Chamomile tea,” Cassian said, mildly affronted. “With honey. It’s good for you. Calming, and the honey should help with your throat.”

“Do I have to?” Lucien complained – quietly, but with enough teasing that Cassian felt something ease inside of him.

Cassian rolled his eyes. “Of course not, you big baby. I can make you a smoothie instead, if you want.”

Lucien hesitated. “What about a milkshake?”

Cassian grinned. “Sure. We might need to go out and get one, though. And you have to promise it won’t spoil your dinner. You need actual food too, you know.”

Lucien’s mouth twitched into something not entirely unlike a smile. “I guess that would be okay. If I can stay in the truck.”

“Hey, they invented drive-thrus for a reason. And I’ll drink your tea instead.” Cassian swiped Lucien’s mug.

“You’re not worried about germs?” Lucien asked, quirking one eyebrow.

Cassian stare him down as he drank from the mug before setting it down with a small clunk. “Not particularly.”

“Ass.”

“If you say so.” Cassian smile. “Ice cream?”

Lucien nodded, standing up but then swaying slightly, grabbing the chair again.

In a second, Cassian was at his side, hands raised but not touching. “You okay?”

“Dizzy,” Lucien mumbled.

“That would probably be the lack of food and sleep.” Cassian carefully put an arm around Lucien as the other man leaned against him. “Have you been staying hydrated?”

“Yes, Mom,” Lucien grumbled. “I’m fine. Just need a milkshake.”

“Okay, okay. Just – you were throwing up, so –”

“Not much,” Lucien interrupted. “Earlier and then once yesterday. It only happens when…” He trailed off.

“When you’re having a panic attack?” Cassian suggested.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

 Cassian helped Lucien to the door and unlocked it one-handed. “Can you make it down the stairs?”

For a moment, a flash of indignation crossed Lucien’s face, but it was almost immediately replaced by a look Cassian could only describe as… crafty. “Definitely not. You’ll have to carry me.”

If Lucien thought this would make Cassian uncomfortable (he didn’t think Cassian was straight, did he?) he had another think coming. Without hesitation, Cassian scooped Lucien into his arms, one arm under his back and the other under his knees. “Like that?” he said cheekily.

Lucien yelped at the sudden motion, throwing his arms around Cassian’s neck. “If I puke on you, it’s your own damn fault,” he grumbled.

“Baby,” Cassian said again, affectionately. He carried Lucien down the stairs, managed to open the door of the truck, and deposited Lucien in the passenger seat. Lucien promptly pulled his feet onto the seat, curled up, and closed his eyes.

“Seatbelt,” was all Cassian said, getting in on the driver’s side. Lucien scowled, but buckled himself in before curling up again.

They drove in silence, Cassian’s eyes firmly on the road and Lucien’s closed. Despite Lucien’s teasing, Cassian thought, it didn’t mean he was okay. He looked drawn – tired – sick. Which he was, really.

Cassian didn’t break the silence until he pulled up to the drive-thru. “What kind of milkshake?” he asked.

“Vanilla,” Lucien mumbled from the next seat. “No extra stuff.”

Cassian rolled his eyes to heaven – of _course_ he wanted vanilla – but placed the order, paid, and passed the cup across the gear shift to Lucien, who took it after a moment. “I can pay you back now,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “I got my first paycheck last week.”

“Congrats,” Cassian said with a grin. “Drink your milkshake.”

Lucien dutifully sipped from the cup – carefully, as his stomach probably wasn’t really settled yet – and let out a sigh. “Fuck, that tastes good.”

“Language.” Cassian nudged Lucien with his elbow as he pulled out of the drive-thru. “You wanna get back to Feysand’s place?”

“Please,” Lucien said with a nod. Then, “Or –”

“What is it?”

“Can we just…” Lucien pointed at the parking lot. “Just for a little while?”

“’Course.” Cassian pulled into a parking spot and cut the engine. “I don’t have anything better to do.” He reached into his pocket for his phone and frowned. “Damn. Must’ve left my phone in the apartment. Good thing I remembered to grab my book this morning.” He retrieved it from the glove box and reclined his seat. “Take however long you need.”

“Thanks, Cass,” Lucien said quietly.

“No prob. I wanted an excuse to just chill for a while anyways.” He rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. “I’m bad at that. Always feel like I should be doing something.”

That almost-smile ghosted Lucien’s face again. “Glad to be of assistance.”

*****

The sun was setting by the time they headed back. Lucien had finished the entire milkshake without throwing up, and now he was nodding off in the passenger seat, head resting gently on the window. The tightness in his face had eased a bit, and his lips were slightly parted. Cassian, glancing at him, felt something in his chest tighten.

Lucien had been through hell and back. Cassian was glad he’d been able to help him this time, but that didn’t erase his trauma. It didn’t heal him. Cassian knew Lucien would have more days like this – hopefully ever fewer, but to think he was cured would be ridiculous. All Cassian could do was –

His train of thought was abruptly derailed as he turned onto Feysand’s street.

There was a police car in front of their apartment.

 _No, no, no…_ Cassian could instantly feel blind panic threatening to envelop his mind, and forced it back. There was no reason to assume something had happened. _Deep breaths. Take deep breaths._ He pulled over, his head clear enough to notice Feyre’s car out in front as well, parked across the street.

It was just as he started getting out of the truck, Lucien stirring beside him, that the apartment door flew open and Feyre dashed down the stairs. Her freckles stood out starkly on her pale face. Cassian let out a long, slow breath at the sight of her. Fine. She was fine. And Rhys must’ve been fine too, or she would’ve led with that. “Is Lucien – oh, thank God,” she breathed, catching sight of him through the truck window.

“Feyre?” Cassian said uncertainly as a police officer appeared in the doorway.

“Never do that again, Cass,” Feyre said, one hand pressed to her chest. “God. One sec.” She went back up the stairs and spoke briefly to the officer, who nodded and headed back to his car.

“What’s this about, Feyre?” Cassian asked when she had rejoined him. “We were only gone a few hours. Why…”

Feyre faltered. “You guys weren’t answering your phones. I… just jumped to conclusions, I guess.” Then, before Cassian could ask her what conclusions, exactly, those were, she went on hurriedly, “How’s he doing?”

“Better, I think,” Cassian said slowly. Feyre wasn’t the type to assume the worst like that. He was the worrier. She was always the practical one who thought things through. She wouldn’t have called the police unless… she was scared. And had good reason to be. “He’s managed to keep down a milkshake, and –”

“Cass?” Lucien’s sleepy voice came from the truck. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

Cassian shot a quick glance at Feyre, who shook her head, eyes wide. “Just Feyre being a worrywart,” he said lightly.

“Thought that was your job,” Lucien mumbled without opening his eyes.

Cassian laughed a little – it sounded forced, even to his ears – and turned back to Feyre. “What’s this really about?” he asked quietly.

Her face went blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cassian gazed at her for a long moment, then shook his head. “Just say you can’t tell me, Feyre. Don’t lie to me.”

“Fine. I can’t tell you.”

Cassian nodded slowly. “All right. I can’t say I understand, but…” He shrugged.

“I would if I could, Cass, I swear.”

Cassian sighed. “I know. Just – keep Lucien out of it.”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do,” Feyre said softly.

*****

Three days later, Cassian was teaching a kids’ beginning taekwondo class when he thought he caught a glimpse of red hair through the window. He didn’t want to pause the class, though, and when he looked again, it was gone.

But when he’d dismissed the class and finished closing up, he found a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the table by the door. There was a note on the top.

 _Thanks for everything,_ it said. _Don’t worry. Elain baked them. Hope they’re as good as a milkshake._ And then – Cassian traced the still-drying pen with his thumb – a small heart.

Cassian felt almost as dizzy as Lucien had the other day.

He was in such deep shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr as birdiethebibliophile!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, I finally actually updated this. I'll be real honest: I was super inspired by reading comments about how much you all love it. Sorry this took so long, but I hope this reassures you that I do truly have it all planned out and won't abandon it. This fic is my baby, don't worry. <3

It wasn’t that Cassian needed an excuse to see Lucien. It was just that his copy of _Rosemary for Remembrance_ was due back, and he didn’t want to give Nesta a reason to stop speaking to him again. And it was mere coincidence that he happened to show up during one of Lucien’s shifts.

“He’s in the stacks,” Nesta told him before he’d even opened his mouth to ask.

“Hi, Nesta. How are you?” he responded blithely. “I’m well, thanks.”

“If you’re trying to pretend you’re not here to see Lucien, you’re failing utterly,” Nesta said, not looking up from her book. “Elain mentioned the cookies. Sweet of him.”

Cassian deflated. “Yeah, it… it was. How’s he been doing?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself? He’s in the biographies.”

“Yeah, you’re right, sorry. I’ll…” Cassian nodded at the shelves, then headed off (rather sheepishly) to the northwest corner of the main floor.

It only took him a minute of searching to find Lucien. He was reshelving a truly obscene number of books on Benjamin Franklin. Cassian felt himself relax as he took in the scene. Lucien was humming absently, lining the spines up as he slid each book onto the shelf. His hair was braided down his back, and his eye was clear. It was a good day.

Lightly, Cassian tapped on the side of a shelf. “Hey.”

Lucien turned towards him, and his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Hey, Cass. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah, well, I thought I’d drop by. Had to, uh, return a book, and I know you work on Wednesday afternoons, so…” Cassian trailed off, feeling his face heat. “Anyways. I wanted to say thanks for the cookies. They were delicious.”

Lucien laughed – really laughed, not the quick, bitter things Cassian was used to hearing from him. The laughter reminded Cassian of a drink of champagne, bubbling and light and sweet, and it made his head spin. “I’ll tell Nesta to tell Elain you said so. She said she usually makes sugar cookies, but I thought you’d like chocolate chip better.”

“I do,” Cassian admitted.

Lucien pushed a last Franklin biography into place, then turned fully to face Cassian. “I think her exact words were, ‘Could seduce a man with cookies like that,’” he said.

Cassian had to take a moment to remember how to breathe. One of Lucien’s dark eyebrows quirked up, like he was asking a question.

“Certainly could,” Cassian finally said.

A smile flitted over Lucien’s mouth, and he turned back to the shelves. “I saw you teaching that class,” he went on. “The kids’ taekwondo one.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm. Cute.”

“I – uh, I just like teaching,” Cassian said. “It’s fun. They learn fast.”

“Bet you don’t get kicked in the balls as much when you’re teaching adults, though.” Lucien shot him a grin.

Cassian groaned. “You saw that?”

“Absolutely. And documented it for posterity,” Lucien added, tapping his pocket where his phone must be. “Or blackmail, I guess, whichever comes up first.”

“You do, and I’ll get Azriel to hack your phone,” Cassian threatened. “Do you want your ringtone to be the Spongebob theme song? Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

“Joke’s on you – I love Spongebob.”

Cassian’s heart swelled for a moment with something he didn’t want to put a name to – something that matched to Lucien’s heart, quickened when he smiled, ached when he was hurting. Seeing Lucien here, so obviously – well, if not happy, perhaps, then content – made that part of him expand to engulf his whole chest.

“Really, though,” he said softly. “How are you?”

Lucien’s teasing smile faded. “Better,” he admitted. “Nesta was pretty cool about me missing work.”

“Yeah, I thought she might be.” Cassian leaned back against the shelves. “You look… good.”

“Don’t I always?” was Lucien’s lighthearted reply. He didn’t look as faded and drawn as he had a few days ago. They’d texted a few times since then, but Cassian felt better with a visual confirmation of what Lucien had told him.

“You do,” Cassian said anyways, and was gratified – if a bit surprised – to see twin spots of color appear high on Lucien’s brown cheekbones.

“So,” Lucien said after a moment of flustered silence, “did you just come over to compliment me? Because I don’t know if Nesta would approve.”

“I told you – I had a book to return.” Cassian hesitated. “I did, uh, have an ulterior motive, though.”

“Yeah? I figured you must.”

Cassian rubbed the back of his head, running nervous fingers through his hair. “Rhys is throwing a party? Gala, whatever. Something business-y. He invited me, and I thought you… might wanna come with, as my plus-one.”

He’d been tossing the idea around for weeks, wondering whether to go through with it. He’d never been the biggest fan of parties, but Rhys had widened his ridiculous eyes and managed to persuade him it would be _fun, Cassian, come on, loosen up a little!_ Cassian hadn’t been able to tell his brother no.

“I dunno, Cass,” Lucien said. “Who all’s going to be there?”

“Bunch of big shots, probably. CEO’s like Rhys. Why – oh.” It hit Cassian suddenly. “God, sorry, Lu, I didn’t even think about that.”

Tamlin.

Cassian kicked himself. Why hadn’t he thought of that? No wonder Lucien wasn’t sure if he wanted to risk it.

“I mean, I know he doesn’t have any power over me now,” Lucien said, the words sounding recited and rote. “But –”

“No, I got it,” Cassian said quickly. “Forget I said anything. I promised Rhys I’d go, but you wanna come over, like, that Sunday? The day after? I owe you a cooking lesson.”

Lucien’s expression relaxed again. “Yeah, that’d be nice. Maybe we could make chocolate chip cookies so I don’t have to rely on Elain’s good humor when I want to be nice.”

“Are you asking me to give you a cooking lesson?”

“Baking. Yes,” Lucien said. “Maybe. Would you… be okay with that?”

“More than okay. Lucien, I’d l- I’d really enjoy baking cookies with you.”

“It’s a date.” Lucien smiled, and Cassian couldn’t help smiling back. Lucien’s smile was intoxicating – contagious. It was a weapon handmade to take Cassian down with a single blow.

“Oh, is it?” Cassian said, raising his eyebrows.

“If you’d like it to be,” Lucien said, and he reached up and tucked a stray curl behind Cassian’s ear. “Can you blame me? After all you’ve been doing for me?”

Cassian’s hand caught Lucien’s barely an inch away from his cheek, gently, so as not to startle him. “I don’t – Lu, I don’t want it to feel like you’re paying me back for anything,” he said. “I know there’ve been… people in your life before who feel like you owe them. I’m not one of those people. You know that, right?”

“’Course, Cass.” Lucien’s thin hand flexed under Cassian’s, and Cassian could feel the tendons move just under his thin skin, could practically feel the blood rushing through his veins, a hummingbird rhythm beneath his fingers. _Careful not to squeeze too hard, Cassian, you’ll crush it_. “Friends… don’t owe each other. And you know I trust you, right?” he said, the edge his voice usually carried smoothed under a strain of genuine concern Cassian hadn’t heard from him before. “I know you’d never – you’re not like him.”

Before Cassian could respond, Lucien yanked his hand back. “I mean, obviously,” he went on, his free hand running over the shelf of books in front of him, pushing them into place even though they were already lined up perfectly. (Nesta would be proud.) “You’re way better-looking.”

“Oh, really?” Cassian asked, slipping back into teasing. “That’s a comfort, at least. By the way – you admitted we’re friends.”

Lucien scowled. “No, I didn’t.”

“You did! You said friends don’t owe each other.” Cassian grinned, leaning on the wooden shelves. “Admit it. We’re friends.”

“Wild horses couldn’t drag it out of me.” But Lucien gave him a small, sideways smile. “I should get back to work, but… I’ll ask Rhys to drive me over on Sunday. I’ll bring the chocolate chips.”

“Come over for dinner.” Cassian caught Lucien’s hand as it rested on the now-empty library cart. “Stay over for the evening. Okay? I want…”

Cassian paused, and it felt like the air around them held its breath. Lucien’s eyes, the warm brown and lifeless gold, were still fixed sideways on him.

_I want you to be happy, and I know I can’t do that, but I can do this._

“I want to spend time with you,” Cassian finished. “No obligations. No Feysand talking business over us. Just cookies and conversation. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lucien said. “Yeah, okay. I can’t…” His eyes dropped. “You know I can’t promise what Sunday’s going to be like.”

“I know, Lu. It’s okay if Sunday turns out to be a shitty day. Let’s plan on it, though. Dinner. Baking. Sunday.”

Lucien nodded. “I’ll expect to hear all about the party. Hours of shit-talking. You better take notes.”

“I’ll keep track of every terrible rich straight person and their terrible fashion choices,” Cassian promised. “I’ll even take pictures. You can pop some popcorn and open up Snapchat and watch them roll in.” And then, because he could tell where Lucien was going to worry, he added, “Trust me, it’ll be really nice to have someone to talk to. That party’s going to be a nightmare, they always are, and Rhys and the others will be schmoozing CEOs.”

“You came here to invite me to a nightmare?” Lucien teased.

“Wouldn’t be a nightmare if you were there,” Cassian said with a grin, “but Snapchat is the next best thing.”

“Better be.” Lucien shoved Cassian backwards with the tips of his fingers. “Go on, get out of here. I have a job to do. I can kick you out now, you know.”

Cassian laughed. “All right, all right, I’m going! But I’ll see you on Sunday?”

“Yeah,” Lucien said, and he smiled. “Sunday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Bright-Eyed and Bushy-Tailed [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10785714) by [YouLookGoodInLeather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouLookGoodInLeather/pseuds/YouLookGoodInLeather)
  * [Baby Steps](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15349782) by [BastardSonOfDay (Diana_Raven)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diana_Raven/pseuds/BastardSonOfDay)




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